Percy Jackson and The Sands Of Time

| Chapter 3 || Lucky or Unlucky? |

There were still more coming, though.

They were getting to close.

As twenty-six more Nazis hit the dirt, I made a break for it. Dashing over to some drums where a few of the other recruits were taking shelter, I dared not look at them. I knew they were being shot. I knew that some of us wouldn't make it out. I just couldn't face the fact of who was going to live and who was going to die. Not yet.

I tossed aside my gun. In one quick movement, the knife was out of its sheath and in my hand, becoming pure destruction at the end of my arm. Getting closer to the German ranks, I began slitting their throats, my knife slicing efficiently through their flesh.

Halfway through the enemy soldiers' ranks, I felt a sudden burn in my thigh. It spread like an inferno, the pain running up and down my leg and even settling into my belly. Risking a quick look down, I saw blood - a lot of blood - running from my leg.

I'd been shot.

Dropping to the ground, I let out a scream - loud and shrill and pain-filled. It was terrible. Like acid flooding my veins. Like the time I had lava thrown at me - that was a bad day, too.

Everything was suddenly too loud and muffled at the same time. The crackling of machine guns was like lightning raining down. The stomping of boots in the dirt was a stampede of wildebeests. My own ragged breathing - sore and tired - rang in my ears. Through all that, one thought raced through my mind: I couldn't stop. I would be done for if I stayed on the ground. The only reason I was alive still to have this conversation with myself was because they already thought I was dead, but that wouldn't last long.

So, digging my fingers into the dirt below me, I unwrapped my fist from around my knife and looked around, pawing for a gun of some sort. Out a stroke of luck - for me, at least - Thompson's gun was nearby, though still resting in his cold, stiffening hand.

I tried not to think about the dead look in his eyes as I grabbed the submachine gun out of his hand, quickly checking the cartridge. Just my luck, it was still half-full. I'd have to make every bullet count if I wanted to survive this battle and get my friends to safety. Well, as safe as you can be while in the army during a time of war - WWII, in our case.

Without wasting time, I dove behind another mound of sandbags and barbed wire, taking in the scene. There were only fifteen men left on their side out of the original hundred fifty or so.

Raising my gun, I begin to shoot. One man got a bullet in the kneecap. He went down. Another, in the brain. Another, in the chest. I just kept shooting and shooting, not even taking my finger off the trigger. Subconsciously, I felt a wave of concern for the state my shoulder would be in later, after having to absorb the shock of the gun, but I wouldn't worry about it now.

As the last German soldier fell, I used my borrowed weapon as a crutch. Walking through the field of corpses, I saw both enemy soldiers and the bodies of my dead friends. I didn't know all of them well. Only well enough to name them as I saw them. To replay images of the time we spent together as I knelt beside each of them, closing their eyes.

Those that were still alive, I helped them to stand and carried them over to the jeep, where, surprisingly, a medic team had arrived and set up. The drill sergeant must've radioed them sometime earlier. They sure got here quick, it was about a five-mile journey.

Slowly, I hobbled over to the German soldiers that were still alive, yet writhing on the ground from their injuries. We'd be able to question them, at least. They might not know much, due to their rank, but I had to hope that they would have some information that would be of use to the allies.

Approaching the soldier I'd shot in the knee, my heart rate increased. He had a bird patch on his uniform - the mark of a high-ranking officer. It truly was my lucky day! Picking him up, I dragged him back over to the jeep.

The drill sergeant, one of the only dozen men to survive the battle, smiled as he saw the Nazi that I was carrying. He came over and clapped me on the shoulder, hard enough that I staggered, making my knees nearly give out beneath me. Now that my adrenaline was wearing off, I could once again feel the dreadful pain of the gunshot wound in my leg. I knew that if it wasn't treated soon, they'd have to amputate and I would most likely never get home from this hell.

"Good work, soldier!" the drill sergeant congratulated me. "Now get yourself patched up. I'll deal with this guy."

Nodding feverishly, I stumbled over to the medics, dropping the enemy soldier as I went. As soon as I sat down on the back of the jeep, Jenny - one of our medics - came over and starting patching me up. She applied an ungodly amount of alcohol on the wound, pulling out the bullet and cleaning the hole thoroughly. Once she was done, she stitched me in record time, only giving me a leather strap to bite down on.

Pretty soon, I was on my feet again, a patch of white contrasting greatly with my muddy training uniform.

"You're lucky," Jenny said, and she supported me to sit in the jeep.

"How so?" I asked. I gave a groan as my butt hit the padded seats.

"The bullet went in but didn't hit anything important. No arteries have been punctured, and it was centimeters away from hitting your femur, but didn't.," she explained, "Like I said: lucky."

I let out a harsh laugh. Yes, I was lucky. Unlike the other sixty men in our squad that didn't make it. "Yeah. I guess I am."

Later, when we got back to base camp and the sergeant explained what happened, I was commended.

I didn't want to be.

What I'd done was selfish - only looking out for myself in survival and leaving the others to die. Sure, I'd killed the last of the Nazis when all the others were incapacitated, but that meant that I' killed a dozen lives to save a dozen, and I'd killed way more than a dozen Nazis.

Nonetheless, I was given a badge to wear on my uniform and named a Staff Sergeant - something I wished I knew what it was, but didn't. Well, I guess I'd have to figure it out soon because I was headed straight for the front lines.

When?

Within the week. It would be great fun.

***

Word Count: 1763

Posted: Saturday, February 3rd, 2018

~CSP2708~

*Dylan_Walts*